


Trust And Order

by valiantlybold



Series: trust me [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, Blood, Jaskier takes care of geralt, M/M, Mild Blood, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Violence, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Self-Harm, Total Power Exchange, Trust, Trust Kink, as always, geralt is Bad With Words, idk if that applies but whatever, its kinda minor but read with caution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:14:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22324639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valiantlybold/pseuds/valiantlybold
Summary: If there is structure, order, and balance, a Witcher survives.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: trust me [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1608811
Comments: 23
Kudos: 658





	Trust And Order

Geralt didn’t know what he was signing up for when he allowed Jaskier to tag along with him. He thought that at worst, the bard would hang around for a few weeks, maybe a month or two, before getting bored and running off on his own to go bother someone else. Geralt would have been _fine_ with that, he would’ve been _fine_ having to deal with Jaskier’s mess for only a month or two.

But not this long. Not _almost a year._

And it isn’t precisely _Jaskier_ himself that Geralt is having… _issues_ with. That isn’t quite it. Jaskier is an idiot who never shuts up, yes, but he is, underneath all of that, a pretty decent person and rather passable company.

What Geralt does have _issues_ with, is the absolute fucking _mess_ of a person that Jaskier is! No matter where he goes, he leaves a _mess_ in his wake. It’s as if he _enjoys_ taking a neatly organized system and _turning it on its head!_

Worst thing about him? He turns _Geralt’s_ life into a mess! He takes years of careful planning, training, and discipline, _and throws it out the window!_

That is the crux of the whole issue.

Witcher training is worse than being a soldier; from day one, a very detailed and organized system of personal existence is _beat_ into their heads. Everything must be in order, everything must be in it’s place, everything is carefully planned and organized, and if one breaks the order, there was severe punishment to be had. Because that is a Witcher’s whole purpose, in the end. Slaying the monsters that disturb the careful balance built up in the world, removing chaos and restoring order. No, they are not appreciated for this, but that doesn’t matter. All that matters is the Path, and that they follow it’s plan.

Geralt’s life is _in order._

From the way he rides and cares for his horse _(exactly as his teachers beat into him, perfect form, practiced the motion of the brush on its flank five-hundred times before he was allowed to touch a horse for the first time, always perform these tasks in this order according to this plan),_ to the way he sleeps in his bedroll _(always with his back to the fire, his hand on his sword, tested a hundred times in school to see if he slept lightly enough to hear a monster sneaking up on him, and beaten black and blue if he didn’t),_ to the way he packs his bags _(they had packed and unpacked their bags hundreds of times to carve the system into their heads)._

_Everything is structured; everything is in order; everything is in balance._

_If there is structure, order, and balance, a Witcher survives._

That is the mantra that _every_ Witcher learns, no matter the school or the teacher, because _it is true._ If they don’t have their things in order, they are unprepared. If they are unprepared, they will be killed. That is the way of the world.

_But Jaskier seems unable to give a shit._

There is no _order_ in Jaskier’s life. In fact, he seems to thrive in _disorder!_ Hell, he might have been a splendid sorcerer for all the fucking _chaos_ he surrounds himself with!

Geralt tries. He tries _so hard._ He _tries_ follow behind Jaskier and put everything back into order, but every time he cleans up Jaskier’s mess, Jaskier turns around and _makes an even worse mess._

It is tearing at Geralt’s nerves to have to _constantly_ maintain the order that he has effortlessly kept in place for _years_ before Jaskier came along.

Which is _why_ he is currently sitting half a mile away from camp, trying to breathe through the _anxiety_ Jaskier rouses in him. He just needs to breathe through it. That’s the good thing about chaos; with enough _effort,_ it can be organized. So Geralt just has to stay calm and organize the chaos. He just needs to unravel the chaos and put things in order again. If he finds his calm again, everything will be alright.

It takes time. It takes time find the calm again, but with breathing exercises and meditation, he finds his way back to it.

Only then, does he return to camp.

But when he gets there… Gods, when he gets there.

Jaskier sits by the fire, one of Geralt’s bags in his laps, everything that had been inside it now spread out on Jaskier’s bedroll, and _Jaskier is still rooting around in the bag._ He goes so far as to curse and tip it upside down, dumping everything left out on the forest floor.

Geralt is stopped in his tracks. He feels his inhumanly slow heart begin to pick up its pace.

“What are you doing?”

Jaskier looks up and has the gall to _smile._ “Geralt! There’s my favorite Witcher!” he says. “I had some blisters on my feet, you see, so I was looking for the salve we purchased in the last town. Don’t worry, I’ll put it all back!”

_No. Oh, no. No, no, no, no._

The only thing worse than Jaskier’s messes, was when he tried to clean them up on his own. He never did it right, he never did it the way it was _supposed_ to be done.

Geralt drops the rabbits he had caught before meditating. He crosses the small clearing with long strides and falls on his knees on Jaskier’s bedroll. He rips the bag out of the bards hands, then starts to dig through the pile of things he had dumped out.

 _“Why?!_ Why do you do this, Jaskier? You make mess after mess after mess, and _I_ am left to clean it up! No matter where I turn, _you are there_ and you are _in the way!_ You have no sense of order or structure, no ability to organize, and no regard for the order that _I_ have made!”

He is re-packing the bag again, _the way it is supposed to be done, the way it has always been done, the way he was taught to do it._

“There is _an order!_ There is _always_ an order on the Path because the Path is order itself! _We_ maintain the order, and we live by the order! Witcher _survive_ through structure! If there is no structure, there is chaos and chaos kills Witchers!”

A hand on his arm makes him look up; fuck, his hands are shaking, why are his hands shaking?

“Geralt,” Jaskier says softly. “I’m sorry. I-I-I had no idea it bothered you so much.”

 _“But it does,”_ Geralt hisses.

He snatches his arm out of Jaskier’s hand, eyes darting back down to carefully catalogue and organize his bag.

“If there is structure, order, and balance, a Witcher survives! But _you!_ You have no structure, no order, no balance, and no matter _how hard_ I try to put everything right again, you only make a mess again! _Stop! It needs to stop!”_

“Geralt, if you show me how you want it, I’ll try my best,” Jaskier tries to tell him.

 _“No,_ you don’t _understand!”_

“Then tell me,” Jaskier goes on. “Tell me what it is I’m not understanding.”

No, it’s too much, Geralt can’t take it, he can’t handle it, his heart is _racing_ and his vision is tunneling , and he needs to return to discipline. He needs to remind himself of _how it is done._

He gets up, dropping the bag. He walks away. He picks a tree at random at the edge of the clearing.

He starts punching its trunk.

_Two-hundred. Two-hundred each. Two-hundred for his left, two-hundred for his right._

That was the usual punishment. A useful one, too. Not only did it toughen them up, but it also disciplined them. It taught them that their mistakes lead to pain. Loss of structure and order, lead to pain.

He counts out loud. He breathes through the pain.

This is discipline. This is what is right. This will maintain his order.

_“Geralt! Geralt, what are you doing?!”_

Jaskier is grabbing at him, pulling at him, trying to make him stop, _trying to make a mess again,_ but Geralt won’t have it, he can’t accept it.

He pushes Jaskier away. Starts counting again.

This is discipline. This is what is right. This will maintain his order.

_“Thirty. Thirty-one. Thirty-two. Thirty-three. Thirty-four. Thirty-five.”_

He can feel his heart slowing again. His knuckles burn with pain but he lets it calm him. The tree-trunk is turning red, blood from his torn up knuckles dirtying the bark.

_“Fifty. Fifty-one. Fifty-two. Fifty-three. Fifty-four. Fifty-five.”_

_“Witcher!”_

The call makes him stop.

He recognizes that tone. It’s Jaskier’s voice, but the tone is so similar to the one his teachers at Kaer Morhen used to have. Geralt turns around.

Jaskier…looks different. He stands a little taller, chin up, arms crossed.

“Stop that nonsense, Witcher,” he says. “Right this instance.”

Geralt doesn’t know what to do. He is conflicted. He wants to continue his discipline, but these are orders telling him what to do and Witchers follow orders.

“What are you waiting for, Witcher?! Go pick up those damn rabbits and get to work! I’ll have no lazing about on my watch!”

Orders. Witchers follow orders.

Geralt moves quickly. He walks over and grabs the rabbits. He sits down by the fire and starts skinning and gutting them.

He is following orders, like Witchers do. There is discipline.

“Put them up to roast when you’re done. And clean up this mess here.”

He glances over. Jaskier points to the half packed bag abandoned on his bedroll. Geralt grunts. Finish one task, move on to the next, do the work in order.

“What’s that, Witcher? I couldn’t hear you!”

“Yessir,” Geralt says without thinking.

Respect your commanding officer.

“That’s right. Don’t go forgetting it.”

It’s quick work. He rubs the rabbit meat in salt and rosemary, then spits them and puts them to the fire. He wipes his hands clean. He gets back to packing. Jaskier sits and guards the roast.

Packing is good. He gets to reinstate order. This is good. This is very good. He is calm. His heart is steady and slow again. It is easy to breathe again.

The bag is packed and he sets it aside.

“Meditate, Witcher,” Jaskier tells him. “Get yourself right.”

“Yessir.”

Geralt sits as comfortably as he can and tries to relax. He closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing.

He returns to himself when Jaskier orders it. He eats when Jaskier puts food in his hands and tell him to eat it. He lays down on his bedroll when Jaskier orders it. He falls asleep almost immediately.

*

For the first time since he was probably a child, Geralt sleeps the whole night.

Witchers only need a handful hours of sleep per night, usually, but… With Jaskier and all that, Geralt couldn’t say the last time he actually _slept._

When he sits up, Jaskier is already awake. It’s the first time Jaskier has woken up before him. Jaskier sits by the fire.

“Morning, Geralt,” he says. “How are you?”

“I’m…okay. I think.”

Jaskier smiles. “I’m glad. I know you probably don’t want to talk about yesterday, but I think we probably should.”

Geralt sighs. He rubs at his eyes. He crawls out of his bedroll and picks at the leftovers from last nights dinner for breakfast. As Geralt says nothing, Jaskier seems to take that as permission to speak.

“I’m sorry, Geralt. For...making a mess. I really _didn’t know_ it was so upsetting to you. I promise you, if I had known, _I would’ve tried harder._ Done better. I thought you were just... _generally annoyed._ I had no idea it did _that_ to you. I never meant to cause you _pain._ I know you probably won’t tell me why you need order so badly, I’ll probably never fully understand it, and I’m sure it’s not easy to talk about, but _you are my friend,_ no matter how much you may deny it. So if... If _sometimes_ you just need someone else to be in charge, someone to tell you what to do... _Then I will help you._ If you will trust me with that, then _I will be that person._ And no one has to know. It will be your secret and mine, and _I swear to you_ that I’ll take it to my grave, Geralt.”

Geralt stares at him. Jaskier pokes at the low fire with a stick.

“And I know you, Geralt. I wouldn’t ever tell you to do anything _you_ wouldn’t do of your own free will. Just…hunt for food, pack the bags, make the camp, take care of Roach. All those things. And we wouldn’t have to do it with others around. In towns, I mean. It could be only times when we’re out like this, in the woods, where no one is around to see it.”

Geralt swallows thickly.

The arrangement feels _tempting._

It doesn’t happen often, but… Sometimes. Sometimes it happens. It happens, without provocation, that Geralt loses sight of his order and his head falls into chaos. Usually, what it takes for him to return is him sitting alone for a few days, packing and unpacking, packing and unpacking, packing and unpacking, until his head understand _order_ again.

But…

Jaskier could help.

Geralt does trust Jaskier. He does. He does trust Jaskier.

Does he trust Jaskier with _this?_

He doesn’t trust anyone with this.

Maybe he trusts Jaskier with this.

He would be the only one he could trust with this.

Geralt has no one else he can possibly trust with this.

“Tell anyone and I’ll kill you.”

Jaskier laughs out loud. “Sounds like a deal.”

Geralt trusts Jaskier.


End file.
